Antony
by Small J
Summary: Follow the heartbreak that is Loki's son as he struggles to step out of his father's shadow and get out from the boot that is S.H.I.E.L.D. Tricks are in store for the poor teen as he creates friendship, hardship and discovers the truth. Is Loki really dead? What does Odin know? A crack story that took all the feels and ran with it. (Started writing this when Avengers came out)
1. A Prologue

In which we begin to see what happened

* * *

It had been a long few years for the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D.

The last year had been longer still for one particular hero.

Thor sat at the bar counter Tony had supplied for each of the Avenger's individual floors. Stark Towers, now known as Avengers Tower, was spacious and filled with every manor of high tech goodies Tony could invent. The brilliant, yet often eccentric, engineer always managed to con one or another of his teammates into testing a new creation. This, of course, after dragging himself out of his personal lab.

Taking a sip from the small, and reinforced, tumbler of Bourbon, Thor sighed. After a year of constantly fighting his brother, the worst had happened. Loki's old "friends" had managed to create a portal into Midgard. This time, however, they were not about to attack. On the contrary, the Chatari managed to grab the fighting trickster and pull him back through the portal.

That had been almost four months previous and there had been no sign of either Loki or Chatari.

Thor knew, in his heart, that something had been wrong with his brother. He had felt that, even the first attack on Midgard, he might be able to reason with the sorcerer—To make the blue-eyed prankster see how loved he truly was.

Odin's punishment, in Thor's mind, sent the younger man further into madness. His father, in his wisdom, would not tell the thunderer where he had banished Loki. The only word he had been given was from his mother, Frigga. The gentle women had confided that time moved differently where Loki was. In the two years that Thor had been forced to agonize over his brothers treatment, Loki would suffer nearly 16.

After his release, Loki had made quick work of escaping Asgard. He had leveled the throne room and, from reports hidden by his father, decimated the prison planet he had been held on. The terror on both Asgard and Midgard had ensued until four months previous when snatched by Chatari.

Thor gulped the last of his drink, wishing once more that the capture would be the end of both of their torments. The reports from S.H.I.E.L.D. he had seen only to add to his sour mood.

Attacks had not been random on either planet. On Midgard: food, clothing and technological gadgets had been stolen amongst the chaos of flaming dragon illusions and near assassinations. Asgard had fared no better with medical and sorcery paraphernalia going missing in between buildings melting.

Grabbing another bottle from the counter, Thor chugged the burning liquid.

The portal had opened, suddenly, over central park a mere 24-hours previous. Loki; weak, bloody, panting Loki, kneeled in the red stained grass. He made no move as the Avengers cautiously ventured forth. He appeared thinner without the leather and armor. He looked Midgardian, the hammer-wielder recalled. His black hair limp, shadowing his face as his head hung low. The once crisp white button down torn open to the last button, cuts welling over with blood. No shoes graced his feet, but ash and dirt covered delicate toes and thin slacks.

Then, to the blonde's horror, the fallen god ventured to glance up.

It was not Loki. The man, no, thought Thor—the child had cheeks too round, eyes too green and far to happy to see the thunderer.

"Uncle," gasped out an accented voice. No more was said as the boy collapsed into the embracing arms of Captain America.

and Thor turned away.


	2. Driving Myself

In which a case is made and Jarvis makes a mistake. Slight humorous chapter.

* * *

"Jarvis," started a softly accented voice. "are they arguing about me again?"

The emerald eyed teen glanced at the muted screens in front of him. He watched as Nick Fury argued with Stark. Steven, once more, placed himself bodily between the arguing duo. The boy knew that Steven often sided with Fury in everything. Everything, that is, unless it came to 'that damned trickster', as the team called him.

"Sir, it is ill advised to—"

"Yes, yes, I know. I shouldn't watch it and let it get me upset. Thank you. Real pal."

Jarvis remained silent for several moments before adding, "You should continue with your lessons, young Antony."

Antony nodded as he flicked the screen nearest his left hand. The arguing trio vanished into the back of the screen as text flitted across. Antony read the lines with vague interest. He found he enjoyed Shakespeare, however reading about who he might have been named after bored him. Cleopatra he could do without; he enjoyed Henry V more.

"Jarvis," he began once more, eyes beginning to glaze over. "What is a 'sweet sixteen' party?"

The three screens around him flickered as Shakespeare faded into bright pictures. Cake, candles, gifts and party streamers flashed around one screen while definitions and historical data rotated along the other two.

"Wait, there! Pause."

The screen directly in front of the young demi-god paused, a dark green car frozen in a sharp turn.

"What does a vehicle have to do with the turning of age?" he asked.

"Simply put, sir, when one turns sixteen, one may obtain a drivers permit."

Antony tilted his head slightly, eying the screen. He had been in a 'car' before. He had been in several. He didn't like the large boxy one that S.H.I.E.L.D. had all but thrown him in. It was spacious, to be sure, but had shaken and jolted with every bump and dip. The 'ambulance' had been cramped, smelly and he had not enjoyed the close contact with those attempting to stop the wounds on his chest from bleeding. The cars Stark had in his lab were sleek in design and beautifully appealing. Stark had allowed him to watch while he repaired an engine some weeks past. The only description Antony could attribute with the sound was, as Stark had, that of a large growling cat.

Glancing behind him, Antony took in the sight of one such car surrounded by large screens, fans, misters and wires. Stark, on a bored day he claimed, had rigged the car up to create one giant simulator. There has been a reference to something called 'The Big Bang Theory' that he did not understand, but the car did look inviting.

"Sir, I would caution you against what you have planned."

Flinching at the sharp tone the ceiling had taken, Antony glanced longingly back at the screen.

The ceiling was silent for several moments before an almost whispered "the green button" flowed softly to waiting ears.

Antony wasted no time in propelling his body from the spinning chair into the awaiting embrace of the drivers seat.

The car was not what Stark would consider his best. It was an Impala with a dented door, sheared of roof and missing backseat. While he never mentioned why he had such a disaster of a car, he defended the damaged thing, refusing to get rid of or repair the damage.

"Besides," he had said, "it gives the simulation more edge."

The ebony haired teen buckled his belt—he was sure Stark had mentioned always doing that—before pressing the green button. Six large screens lifted and rotated. One directly in front of the car and the other directly behind him took up the width of the Impala. Four more screens were angled to the corners of the car. The doors were not blocked with screens, allowing Antony to easily glance past the simulation to the rest of the lab. He wasn't sure when it had happened but he had gained a slight phobia with tight places and blocked views. At all times, he needed to be in view of at least one exit.

Looking forward, the young man smiled as wind caressed his face and played with his hair. Before him stretched a long dirt road with fields on either side. It was straight and wide with little room for error. He could just make out the faint smell of grass and dirt when Jarvis began his lesson.

"Now, place your hands on the steering wheel at the ten and two positions as if you were looking at a clock."

He remembered the lesson on how to tell time and use a watch. While the clocks were pretty to look at, he became rather fond of the digital versions that immediately gave the time. Another annoyance, he mused. He was not afraid of not knowing the time so much as it sometimes gave him a crippling attack when he was stuck in a white room with no idea how much time was passing. He wished he could ask his father if he had any fears. Instead, he made note to ask Steven.

Tony was frustrated. He was tired, too. On top of it all he was out of his league.

Dealing with S.H.I.E.L.D., Pepper, his own company, and being Iron Man was hard enough to manage without Captain sparkle pants dragging Bruce against him.

Bruce was his brother. They were buddies. They made beautiful science together. Until the Capcicle threw together a hasty rescue mission to get the son of demon spawn, Antony, from the evil clutches of his boss. Bruce, surprisingly, had agreed that the boy needed to get away from S.H.I.E.L.D. at soon as possible.

Thor had said nothing to his nephew being manhandled into a cell. He was convinced it was some clever trick by Loki. Maybe the kids was Loki and he was just pretending to be a kid to kill them in their sleep.

But then Bruce had stepped in and proven with blood work and magic scans and bone density charts that it couldn't be Loki but, with a paternity test, raised suspicion that he was the father.

Then the boy had given his woefully sad story of being raised on a prison planet and his mother being killed and poor Loki protecting him and helping him escape. Of course, he helped with some of the attacks afterword. They needed supplies and no one was killed. Loki had caused the chaos and he had 'simply stolen what was necessary.'

"but how did you come to be in the park?" Tony had asked.

He was taken, of course. Oh, shocking. That last rabid attack from Loki? He had been trying to find him. He thought S.H.I.E.L.D. or, worse, Odin had discovered Antony and taken him.

"So what happened after Loki was taken?"

That was met with silence. Every time it was asked, no matter the way it was phrased, nothing was said. Once, and only once, he had given an answer that Fury had not deemed good enough.

"He redeemed himself, can it not be enough?"

Tony knew. Thor knew. The glistening behind the Captain's eyes demonstrated he knew. Fury, the counsel, the rest of those privy to such knowledge, did not think so. They wanted to hear it. They wanted to hear someone, anyone, breathe the words of Loki's death at the hands of the Chatari. Someone wanted an acknowledgement that the god's final act had been to save his son.

Rogers didn't need to hear it. He fought to have Antony placed in Avengers town. Bruce, in his ever subtle way, had helped ensure it. Who better to watch the kid then a tower full of super heroes? If the Hulk could take down Loki, then a willowy half Loki would be nothing.

Grabbing a beer from the fridge, Tony made his way to his lab, thoughts passing to Fury. He had not been happy Antony had been given free reign to Tony's floor without an Avenger present. The billionaire had argued that Jarvis was more then able to watch him. Besides, he added, Antony was in class, not out causing chaos. The one-eyed man had not been happy with the idea of the spawn of the enemy learning about anything Midgardian. Rogers, bless the boy scout, reminded Fury that the kid knew enough about Midgard to know what to steal. He knew basic medicine and first aid, as well as how to function a cell phone, computer and the internet. It was only a matter of time before he figured out everything else. Bruce was happy to comment that Jarvis was steering his lessons towards compassion and away from 'stab first, question later'.

Tony did not want the kid in his tower. It was strange and weird and it had taken forever to get his father's imprint from out of the floor. It was difficult to look at him and not see Loki grinning back. When he watched Antony stare out of the window Loki had so ceremoniously thrown him from, chills ran up his spine. He was more then happy to let Fury keep the budding sorcerer.

Rogers had called him a few names. Bruce said he couldn't judge the son by the father's actions any more then he could judge Bruce for Hulk's.

In the end, it was easier to take the wrath from Fury then the disappointment from Bruce or the 'Howard would have' from Rogers.

Tony slowed his pace as he stepped lightly down the stairs. Music echoed in the small corridor in front of the glass doors.

"Oh, no. No. Oh, NO." he mumbled, shuffling towards the car currently zipping through simulated roads.

"Apologies, sir, but I seem to have inadvertently created a Hannah Montana obsession."

From the car's speakers blasted 'Life's What You Make It' as simulated wind whipped around the sunglasses perched on top of the drivers head. The simulated sun had begin to set behind high reaching buildings while other drivers swished by. Antony belted out the loud lyrics as he tapped his fingers to the wheel. It was clear the song had been played several times.

Tony turned to escape his lab yelling, "Nope, can't do it. This is the Captain's territory. Nope."

Antony, only glancing at the distraught man, laughed softly before hitting his turn signal to ease his way to the exit Jarvis had instructed. He was heading to the DMV for his virtual license and he was very happy about it.


	3. Watching Like a Hawk

In which a budding friendship is demonstrated and Antony prepares to meet with Nick

* * *

Somewhere high in the city, a would-be god slept soundly. There were no birds chirping at his window, so high in the tower. Even if they did, the sound would not reach the thick, ridiculously sturdy glass. Barring that, the small god found himself burrowed under several blankets as he curled into himself in the center of his bed.

The day was cold and, while the sun shone brightly, the wind buffeted the grand structure. He would have been very happy on a lower floor if Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. would trust him a bit.

And there it was. The biggest bone of contention he had with the world at large. Trust was something that should be earned along side of respect, he believed. Several times a day he would grit his teeth and take the snide remarks to his character and his fathers. He couldn't blame them, not really. They saw the same monster his father saw in every reflection. Antony, however, did not.

Shrugging slightly, the leafy eyed youth began the tedious process of being reborn through the cocoon of warm blankets, quilts and comfitures. It was a new day and he reminded himself that it was one day closer to proving he was worthy of the air he sucked in.

Sighing, Antony gently pulled the heavy coverings away from his face to tuck under his chin. Blinking owlishly, the teen pulled the blankets further, slithering up to rest against the headboard.

"You know," he drawled towards the foot of his bed, "this is starting to become a bit hawkward for me."

Clint smiled from his place, perched comfortably atop the polished six drawer dresser. Antony had no personal affects to clutter the surface. The dresser itself, hand crafted from fine oak, stood nearly empty.

Nodding his head slightly towards the bed side clock, Clint chuckled.

Antony glanced over to the large digital device, groaning when he realized he hadn't set it for daylight savings time. He was, officially, an hour late for his meeting with the Director.

So much for earning trust, he thought bitterly as he sunk back into the warmth of his safety nest.

The agent just laughed lowly as he slid gracefully from his smooth perch to stalk over to the bed. He sifted through the tangled material until he could make out the tuft of ebony hair standing at odd angles.

"It isn't that bad," he said lowly.

Antony peeked up, eyes nearly glowing in the dim light filtering through the cave entrance Clint had made.

"The Director wanted to send Widow."

Shaking with muffled laughter, Antony allowed the bowman to pull his safety blankets away and help him stand.

Smiling, Antony nudged the Hawk with an elbow.

"That would be bad," he laughed out. "You stare at me until I wake while she simply dumps the mattress over. What a choice."

Stepping back, the Avenger let the boy cross the room to the bathroom. Antony liked to keep his cloths for the day ready and in the bathroom every morning. It was faster, he declared, when you can wake up and shower right away instead of trying to figure out what you will wear. That, he admitted, and I never want to forget to bring my cloths with me again.

No one had asked how often he forgot to bring his cloths with. Clint pretended he didn't see the tense shoulders or sudden need to inspect his fingernails. Natasha politely ignored the slight shudder.

Clint could hear water hitting the tile as Antony lightly sang his favorite Hannah Montana songs.

Knowing he would have to wait, no matter what the Director wanted, the archer settled back on the nearly empty dresser, drawing up one leg to rest on the edge. It wasn't as if the boy didn't have furniture in his room. On the contrary, the room was furnished with two plush chairs; the blue settled at an angle from the window, and the deep green in the corner by the full bookshelf.

He liked high places. It was who he was. While the dresser was not as tall as the book shelf, it was far less personal. Clint had seen the sorcerer cling dearly to his books when he read, knuckles white and bated breath with every page turned. That corner was Antony's corner. Every book he asked to purchase was cherished and given a home in the simply structure. Clint knew that somehow, in some way, reading was connected to Loki. The willowy teen clung to each book, and glanced longingly at the shelf with the same heartbroken expression he held every time he was forced to talk about his father.

Clint had made several mental notes to ask about the book obsession, however could never bring himself to do so. Antony looked so open and almost desperate to talk to anyone that the archer couldn't bring himself to ask in the event that the conversation did lead to Loki. He didn't think he could do it and not sound like every other Agent Antony had been forced to interact with.

Sighing, he rested his forehead on a drawn up knee as the water stopped running for the shower. After several minutes, Antony stepped from the bathroom clean and fully dressed. While it was not leather and metal, the emerald flared tunic top with black jeans and boots held a twist of old and new world style. He kept his hair styled back, much like Loki had, but looked softer for it. With Tony's more then happy insistence, Antony had been introduced to hair mousse. While his hair stayed back, it looked soft and bounced lightly at curled ends.

Hawkeye thought he would one day hate how much like his father Antony looked. For now, he could simply smile, hand the boy a jacket and walk out the door. Antony would follow and brave any harsh realities thrown at him. With any luck, the S.H.I.E.L.D. would realize how lucky they were to have a budding magic wielder on their side. With even more luck, they would stop driving him away and start utilizing him to his full potentional. One never knew when a semi-god would be needed.


	4. Shit, Meet Fan

And here is another chapter. This was supposed to be a funny story. Instead, it is turning into a bit of a drama. Eh. What are you gonna do?

In this chapter: We get into Clint's head a bit, Antony gets time with Black Widow and Tony has some dramatic news that will change the game.

See the notes at the bottom for information on characterization choices I made.

* * *

He liked his floor in the tower. The walls were a pleasing shade of cream with white, and black furniture scattered around. There were high perches and walkways along the walls and ceiling. Vents were exposed and ran from room to room. Metal bars stretched in the top of the door ways to allow the Avenger to do chin-ups without visiting the training room. The windows were large and took up much of one wall. The couch, a plush while thing with black pillows, faced the windows. On either side, matching chairs angled to face the coffee table in front of the couch. Behind this, and on a slightly raised platform, the full kitchen and bar stood gleaming. The table, humble in size and simplicity of wood grain structure, stood as a peaceful coffee cup holder to a slowly awaking Archer.

"Pepper is out of town so you get Stark."

This was not the way Clint wanted he day to start. He adored Natasha. There hadn't been a moment he regretted saving her. Black Widow had gone from a mission to be fixed to his best friend. Clint didn't really know when it had happened. It just did. In the back of his mind, Clint had wondered if he had decided she was worth saving the moment he met her, or if he had known the second he had been shown her picture. Either way, he decided to himself, he didn't much care for her if this was his morning greeting.

Looking up from his overflowing coffee cup, Clint addressed his so called best friend.

"Why, hello. How are you? I am great. Have a good night? Why thank you, you as well."

The long and exaggerated slurping sip he took of the warm beverage did nothing to phase Natasha's neutral expression. She simply let one perfectly maintained eye brow raise up as her head tilted to the side. Smiling her most realistic smile she asked, "Not enough coffee in the system yet?"

Clint grunted but didn't pause in his hasty desperation for his morning coffee. If he was going to deal with Stark, he wanted to have all the coffee he could.

"Who has Banner today?"

Natasha took her time pulling out a chair and sitting down before leveling her friend with her blandest look. "It is science day."

The archer sighed around the mug. Natasha was sure she heard a sarcastic "yaaayy" somewhere around the sip but didn't comment.

"Don't feel so bad," she started, "You get fun science stuff. I get to watch Antony."

Clint paused his drinking, glass raised halfway to his lips. He let the mug softly click back onto the table, never taking his eyes from the woman in front of him.

"Nat—"

"We will be fine. He is going to sit down and read all day. We are not going to have any pranks, he isn't going to waltz around the tower and we are all going to get along. No big deal."

Clint wanted to say something. He truly wanted to remind her that they were dealing with Antony, not Loki.

Antony, who could barely lift a chair with magic. Antony, who was more interested calling the radio stations they training. He was, for all rights, a teenager. The more the archer followed him around, the more convinced he became. Antony was more Midgardian they any of the Avengers.

It had taken Clint some time to get used to the idea. Knowing he was Loki's kid hadn't made it easy. Knowing he couldn't hold Loki's crimes against Antony any more then he could hold Natasha's past against HER had been tough. In the end, he decision had been easy said then done. He was, after all, paid to know things. He had a good set of eyes and a lot of skill in the sneaking around department. If Antony had known he was being watched by more then the cameras, he had said anything.

Truth be told, he liked the kid. Antony had a good head on his shoulders. His taste in music aside, he didn't seem crazy. If anything, he seemed to appear shy and, in many cases, desperate. Desperate for attention, desperate for approval, desperate to be himself and not live in the shadow of his father. Desperate to catch even a passing glimpse of his uncle...

The more the thought about it, the sorrier he felt. If desperately seeking approval had driven Loki in any way to snap, the last thing he wanted, or the world needed, was Loki part two.

"Look," he found himself saying, "Give him a change, okay? The last thing we need is him to think we all hate him. I don't want to give him any reason to want us toasted over a fire."

Natasha said nothing as she stood, took Clint's cup, and walked from the room.

* * *

Natasha knew Jarvis would announce her arrival before she even entered the elevator. Antony had become fond of the A.I. just as the system had somehow become fond of him. Somehow, and without any prompting from his creator, Jarvis had settled himself as a type of father figure to the orphaned teen. She shook her head to clear her thoughts as the elevator arrived at Antony's floor.

Though not an avenger, Antony had been given his own floor just below Tony's. The floor was a spare floor, as Tony claimed. It was his second bedroom since his floor had become a type of default common room for the gathered Avengers.

As the she made her way into the main living room she couldn't help but notice the extra decorations. When she had last been to the floor a week previous, the walls had been bare. The furniture, while expensive, had been what many called 'Modern Chic'. The straight lines and geometrical forms had been appealing, true, but very plain. Now, however, there was color.

Blue trim lined the wall about three inches from the ceiling. Movie posters and album covers were painstakingly framed and placed randomly along the walls. The chairs and couches that had been nothing but plush white forms had been replaced with blue and green cushions, beanbags and loveseats. Several bookshelves were stationed along the walls and, in one corner, an over stuffed chair and floor lamp made up a reading nook.

Among it all, Antony stood in the center of the room, trying to subtly wring his hands. He twisted his finger tips around each other and picked at his nails while trying to valiantly meet the Black Widow's gaze.

To be honest, he was afraid of her. To be completely, totally, and irrevocably honest—he was down right terrified of her.

He didn't like how she carried herself. She could sway her hips and dance from a room or stalk forward like a cat ready to pounce. He eyes were always what gave him pause. They held every emotion he could imagine and swirled them around until he wasn't sure which she was feeling at all. She looked ready to kill him even while sweetly asking him questions about his day. He didn't like the idea of spending the day with her but Jarvis had said Clint was working on a project with Stark. He could only hope she didn't really kill him.

* * *

Clint had made it into Tony's lab with little problem. Jarvis had assured him that everything was alright but he still held his doubts. He adored Natasha, but sometimes she scared even him.

"Perfect!" declared the Iron Avenger as Clint made his appearance down the stairs. "Just in time. We are going over the footage again. I could use your eyes on this."

Bruce sat in front of a large computer screen while Tony fiddled with his fancy keyboard. The screen shifted several times as Clint took the seat Bruce had nodded towards.

As he focused on the screen Tony kept adjusting, he felt tiny rocks sink into his gut.

"The hell are...are those black holes? Over Central Park?"

On the screen, tiny portals swirled into life over the lush green trees. Like miniature black holes, they spun into existence and pulled air through. Leaves stirred on the trees as loose twigs shot up from the ground to be inhaled into the darkness. After a moment, the anomily twisted and turned, stretched and grew until at last a creature pulled itself through to land among the grass. The portal, having completed its task, vanished into the nothingness from whence it came.

As Clint watched, horror beginning to make itself known in his chest, the creature turned to face the surveillance camera.

It wasn't a Chitauri. Whatever it was, though, it looked very similar. The color seemed a bit off and the way the creature carried it's limbs didn't look right. It looked, to Clint at least, like the skin has been pulled tight over a skeleton smaller then the Chitauri and a lot thinner. When it turned once more, Clint could make out what looked like a knot on the top of the creature's head and several more along the spine. It looked like the skin had been pulled back and knotted to fit a frame.

"This isn't even the best part" started a grim faced Banner.

"Yeah," replied the inventor. "We got these same readings when the Chitauri popped up and nabbed Loki. You seeing what I am?"

Clint nodded, feeling his stomach give a tight twist.

"Oh and the best, BEST part of the whole thing? This isn't even the first. These black hole, portal...things have been popping up all over the place for three days. This is the first whatever to come through and we have no idea where it is."

Just when he started to think life was getting easier, life proved him wrong.

The archer's voice refused to waver as the Avenger asked, "If those are the same things that grabbed Loki...do you think they might be looking for Antony?"

With a few taps on the keyboard, Tony managed to pause and zoom in on the creature. So occupied in figuring out what the creature even was, Clint had failed to notice what was in the creature's hand.

There before them, in sharper color, contrast and detail then he ever would have wanted, was clutched Loki's scepter. Though the staff looked like it had been shorn in half, the blade and glowing blue gem remained intact and perched regally atop twisted metal.

Clint hoped he didn't have to tell Antony.

* * *

Ta-da? See you next chapter for Black Widow, Loki and some fun time with Clint.

I love Hawkeye, I really do. I have a problem with how he is portrayed in some cases, though.

I like to think that if it was in his character to see something worth saving in Natasha, root for Thor when he was winning, and keep a level head when dealing with Loki after the brainwashing thing, then he isn't a jerk.

So often he is portrayed as an angry and bitter man who is pissed at Loki and anything related to him. I imagine he was pissed, yes. I also imagine he is capable of working past it. If he could forgive and work with Natasha, I am pretty sure he can be friends with Antony without too much trouble.


End file.
